Part 11 (1/2)
Aunt Abby sniffed disdainfully, and Embury chuckled at her expression.
Though not a 'spiritualist,' Miss Ames was greatly interested in telepathy and kindred subjects and like all the apostles of such cults she disliked to hear of frauds committed in their names.
”Go on,” said Eunice, her eyes dancing with antic.i.p.ation. ”I love a hoax of this sort, but I can't imagine yet how you did it! I understand about the blindfolding, though, and of course that was half the battle.”
”It was, ma'am, and the other half was--boots!”
”Boots!”
”Yes, ma'am. Do you know that you seldom see two pairs of boots or shoes alike on men?”
”I thought they were all alike,” exclaimed Eunice. ”I mean all street shoes alike, and all pumps alike, and so forth.”
”No, not that,” and Embury laughed; ”but, I say, Hanlon, there are thousands of duplicates!”
”Not so you'd notice it I But let me explain. First, however, here are four men present. Let's compare our shoes.”
Eight feet were extended, and it was surprising to note the difference in the footgear. Naturally, Hanlon's were of a cheaper grade than the others, but whereas it might have been expected that the three society men would wear almost identical boots, they were decidedly varied.
Each pair was correct in style, and the work of the best bootmakers, but the difference in the design of tip, side cut, sole and fastening was quite sufficient to prevent mistaking one for another.
”You see,” said Hanlon. ”Well, take a whole lot of your men friends, even if they all go to the same bootmaker, and you'll find as much difference. I don't mean that there are not thousands of shoes turned out in the same factory, as alike as peas, but there is small chance of striking two pairs alike in any group of men. Then, too, there is the wear to be counted on. Suppose two of you men had bought shoes exactly alike, you wear them differently; one may run over his heel slightly, another may stub out the toe. But, these things are observable only to a trained eye. So--I trained my eye. I made a study of it, and now, if I see a shoe once, I never forget it, and never connect it with the wrong man. On the street, in the cars, everywhere I go, I look at shoes--or, rather, I did when I was training for this stunt. It was fascinating, really. Why, sometimes the only identifying mark would be the places worn or rubbed by the bones of the man's foot--but it was there, allee samee! I nailed 'm, every one! Oh, I didn't remember them all--that was only practice. But here's the application; when I started on that trip in Newark, I was introduced to Mr. Mortimer. Mind you, it was the first time I had ever laid eyes on the man. Well, unnoticed by anybody, of course, I caught onto his shoes. They were, probably, to other people, merely ordinary shoes, but to me they were as a flaming beacon light! I stamped them on my memory, every detail of them. They were not brand new, for, of course, anybody would choose an easy old pair for that walk. So there were scratches, b.u.mps, and worn, rubbed places, that, with their general make-up, rendered them unmistakable to yours truly! Then I was ready. The earnest but easily-gulled committee carefully adjusted their useless pads of cotton and their thick bandage over my eyes, and I was led forth to the fray.
”Remember, I asked Mr. Mortimer not only to think of the hidden penknife, and will me toward it, but also to look toward it himself.
Now, to look toward any object, a man usually turns his whole body in that direction. So, groping about, clumsily, I managed to get sight of the toes of those well-remembered boots. Seeing which way they were pointed was all the information I needed just then. So, with all sorts of hesitating movements and false starts, I finally trotted off in the direction he had faced. The rest is easy. Of course, coming to a corner, I was absolutely in the dark as to whether I was to turn or to keep straight ahead. This necessitated my turning back to Mr. Mortimer to catch a glimpse of which way his feet were pointing. I covered this by speaking to him, begging him to will me aright--to will me more earnestly--or some such bunk. I could invent many reasons for turning round; pretend I had lost my feeling of 'guidance,' or pretend I heard a sudden noise, as of danger, or even pretend I felt I was going wrong.
Well, I got a peek at those feet as often as was necessary, and the rest was just play-acting to mislead the people's minds. Of course, when I stumbled over a stone or nearly fell into a coal hole or grating, it was all pretense. I saw the pavements as well as anybody, and my effort was to seem unaware of what was coming. Had I carefully avoided obstacles, they would know I could see.”
”And when you reached that vacant lot?” prompted Eunice.
”I saw friend Mortimer's feet were pointing toward the center of the lot, and not in the direction of either street. So I turned in, and when I got where I could see the burned-down house, I guessed that was the hiding-place. So I circled around it, urging my 'guide' to look toward the place, and then noting his feet. I had to do a bit of scratching about; but remember, I could see perfectly, and I felt sure the knife was in the charred and blackened rubbish, so I just hunted till I found it. That's all.”
”Well, it does sound simple and easy as you tell it, but, believe me, Hanlon, I appreciate the cleverness of the thing and the real work you went through in preparation for it all,” Hendricks said, heartily, and the other men added words of admiration and approval.
But Miss Ames was distinctly displeased.
”I wouldn't mind, if you'd advertised it as a trick,” she said, in an injured tone, ”as, say, the conjurors do such tricks, but everybody knows they're fooling their audience. It is expected.”
”Yes, lady,” Hanlon smiled, ”but the fake mediums and spirit-raisers, they don't say they're frauds--but they are.”
”Sir, you don't know what you're talking about! Just because there are some tricksters in that, as in all professions, you must not denounce them all.”
”They're all fakes, lady,” and Hanlon's air of sincerity carried conviction to all but Aunt Abby.
”How do you know?” she demanded angrily.
”I've looked into it--I've looked into all sorts of stunts like these.
It's in my nature, I guess. And all professional mediums are frauds.
You bank on that, ma'am! If you want to tip tables or run a Ouija Board with some honest friends of yours, go ahead; but any man or woman who takes your money for showing you spiritual revelations of any sort, is a fraud and a charlatan.”